


i feel so alone on a friday night (can you make it feel like home if i tell you you’re mine)

by vanillaskin



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Drabble, Ghosts, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-Pennywise (IT), Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillaskin/pseuds/vanillaskin
Summary: Richie looked into the rear view mirror to see a young, teenaged Stanley, around the age of 17, wearing the same shirt that he wore the night he and Richie kissed for the first time, his dark hair messy, almost exactly the way Richie had messed it up by running his hands through it so gently. Richie turned around quickly in shock, because he had never seen Stanley’s ghost in this form, normally seeing him in his old age, in his forties— but when Richie turned around, the vision of Stanley, his sweet, more innocent, the Stanley he remembers, the Stanley he wanted to grow old with, the Stanley he wanted to run away to San Francisco with- was gone.Richie was breathless as he drove on, the road getting darker as he kept driving, forward and forward as the loud silence kept ringing in his ears. He felt the cold engulf him as if Stan was straddling his lap from the dead, crying into Richie’s shoulder, almost a mirror image of how Stan cried to Richie when they were still children, still 15, when Stanley’s father condemned his bisexuality. Richie felt salty, tear like water droplets slowly drip down from his neck to his back, and when Richie lifted his left fingers to wipe them away, he soon realized they were never there.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	i feel so alone on a friday night (can you make it feel like home if i tell you you’re mine)

**Author's Note:**

> tw // smoking + stan’s ghost + death discussion + sad richie :(
> 
> based off lana del rey’s song “born to die,” i recommend you listen to it while reading!!

It was cold, humid Friday on the 21st night of October when Richie exited the movie theatre in which he watched 20th Century Women for the first time. It was Beverly’s favorite film, a light-hearted feminist comedy-drama that made Richie smile a few times while watching, and gave Richie a window of escape from the grief he has post-Pennywise. 

It’s been around three or four months since Richie left Derry for the second time, and the emotional toll it took for Richie to leave those two times, once when he was still a teenager, and the second time was in his early forties. They were nearly identical- saying goodbye to your closest and truest friends, but there’s one key difference- two of the goodbyes on the second time around were forever.

Richie’s back in Los Angeles now, and his comedy tour was long gone, escaping in the wind along with Richie’s last bit of normality. He had taken a break from being in the Hollywood spotlights, and even considered moving down to San Francisco and catching rides from younger women but it just didn’t seem to work out that way. And now he’s here— alone as the thunder cracks, walking the uncharacteristically silent streets of Los Angeles, trying to find his car which was parallel parked at the end of the block.

He felt a raindrop splatter hard on his scalp, and then another two on his palm and nose. He walked a bit faster, realizing that the storm clouds had caught up to him while he sat in the theatre. 

As Richie paced down to the end of the block, he felt a tinge of a familiar coldness on the nape of his neck, and a sinking feeling in his heart. This feeling, to most people, would be unsettling and even a bit creepy— but it was comforting to Richie, because he knew that someone was here to visit him, and that someone would come every few days when Richie felt most alone, and here he was, walking behind Richie, invisible and breathless.

Richie thought to himself, ‘Stanley, who am I to love you?’ as he approached his red Mustang, not expecting a response of any sort. This question has always been on Richie’s mind, even since he was a child, dashing and racing around Richie’s subconscious like how the stars align themselves against one another in the night sky. Richie knew he wasn’t the only one Stanley would visit, he would visit Patty, his wife, too— and sometimes even Bill Denbrough or his father. The only reason Stanley was here was because he had unfinished business, and though Stan would never disclose what this business was to Richie, Richie knew that all Stan wanted was for Richie, and the others, to move on before he truly rest. 

Ever since Stanley had started visiting Richie, whether in his sleep or when Richie was at his lowest, Richie would question why Stanley would visit him— as the others he visited was his wife and father, and hell, the last person he cried out to before he died— Bill. Richie felt almost obscure and out of place, like he didn’t belong in Stanley’s presence, and though Richie knows Stanley can feel what Richie feels, Stan never seems to reassure him— and Richie will never not question why.

As Richie stepped and sat into his car, a sudden, colder feeling reassured him that Stanley would soon appear in his vision, and Richie let out a breathy chuckle as he inserted his keys into the ignition. 

“Alright Stan, I’m going to have to ask you a favor this time.” Richie says into the heat of the car as he turns out the heater as he pulls out of his parking space. He feels a cold breeze on the back of his neck, most likely from Stan, and from Richie’s analysis over the past few months it meant he was saying ‘yes.’

“I know you do this thing to probably get revenge against me for making you cry every time we hooked up back in college, but I’m gonna have to ask you to not make me burst into tears this time by saying some philosophical shit that will have me questioning my very existence, alright? We have a deal?” Richie proposed as he drove off into the road, the street and shop lights illuminating the night as he drove forward.

Richie felt a tingle on his lower arm, which was most definitely from Stan, which was probably just to make fun of him. Richie laughed as he muttered happily, ‘stop it!’ as the tingling sensation slowly faded away.

Richie looked into the rear view mirror to see a young, teenaged Stanley, around the age of 17, wearing the same shirt that he wore the night he and Richie kissed for the first time, his dark hair messy almost exactly the way Richie had messed it up by running his hands through it so gently. Richie turned around quickly in shock, because he had never seen Stanley’s ghost in this form, normally seeing him in his old age, in his forties— but when Richie turned around, the vision of Stanley, his sweet, more innocent, the Stanley he remembers, the Stanley he wanted to grow old with, the Stanley he wanted to run away to San Francisco with- was gone.

Richie was breathless as he drove on, the road getting darker as he kept driving, forward and forward as the loud silence kept ringing in his ears. He felt the cold engulf him as if Stan was straddling his lap from the dead, crying into Richie’s shoulder, almost a mirror image of how Stan cried to Richie when they were still children, still 15, when Stanley’s father condemned his bisexuality. Richie felt salty, tear like water droplets slowly drip down from his neck to his back, and when Richie lifted his left fingers to wipe them away, he soon realized they were never there.

Richie turned on his dim headlights as the road became pitch black, no shops or street lights in sight. He realized that he was on the freeway as his senses cane back to him as the rain started to knock against his car windows. As the cold feeling disappeared from Richie, he knew this was his time to pull over. He kept his car running as he put it in park, the headlights softly illuminating the road before him. Richie sighed as he grabbed the pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a red lighter off his dashboard, taking one out and lighting it up as he lightly tossed the package to the floor of his car. 

As Richie took his first hit, he felt as if someone was rubbing his shoulder from behind, and he knew it was Stanley even though he couldn’t see him. The way Stanley held his shoulder as Richie smoked reminded him of when they were in college, when Richie was most addicted to cigarettes, and in the night he would wake up to smoke while Stan slept next to him— and sometimes Stan would wake up and rub his shoulder, asking, sometimes even begging him to go back to sleep. Richie remembered every detail about him and Stan’s relationship in high school and college before Patty came along— and that was where things started to get blurry.

He huffed as he dug the cigarette into the cup-holder-turned-ash tray with frustration before suddenly, and without prompting, exiting the vehicle.

Richie walked over to the front of his car, where he slumped down and sat against the front bumper, sitting on a wet road as the moderate rain fell against his figure. His eyes scrunched up as he brought his hands to his face, hoarsely screaming into his palms, attempting to let out all of the balled up anger and tension inside him that had been building up over the past few days due to Stanley’s absence. It was as if Stanley was Richie’s heroin—the after high doesn't last for too long. 

“Hey stranger. You okay down there?” Richie’s head shot up at the familiar voice, and looking up to see Stanley, but at least this time, how normally sees him- middle aged, in his forties, wearing a green flannel with a black cardigan and jeans. Richie smiled as his hands returned to his knees as he brought them up to his chest, inviting Stan to come sit down next to him.

“It’s been.. longer than usual.” Richie said while he reached to hold Stan’s fingers as Stan sat. 

“I’m sorry about that. I was caught up with Patty. I needed to reflect and cool down a little bit before I saw you. It was very.. uh, well, intense.” Stan said as he sat close to Richie, his words making Richie’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“What happened? You guys had ghost sex or something? Posthumous missionary?” Richie laughed as Stan nudged him hard, reminding them both of when they were young, and well, alive.

“No, not at all. She’s going through it all, mean, it’s been four months since I died and she hasn’t moved on at all. I told her that she should see other people, and that I wouldn’t mind, but she blew up on me. It wasn’t like any of the silly arguments that we had when I was alive.” As Stan paused, Richie intertwined his right hand into Stan’s left, squeezing it lightly in an attempt to comfort Stan. Richie knew this tone of voice very well— it developed in college and Stan always used it when deeply troubled about something. Though the tone usually worried Richie when Stan was alive, it had now become oddly comforting posthumously. 

“Well, Stanley, I mean it’s great you’re okay with her seeing other people, but maybe it’s too soon?” Richie explained as he brushed his thumb against Stanley’s, hearing Stan sigh as Stan crept closer, sinking into and melding into Richie’s figure as he rested his head against his shoulder.

“Yeah. You’re right. But, I just want her to be happy, y’know? I hate seeing her so sad.” Stan moped as he swung over his right arm to mess with Richie’s sleeve as Richie basked in Stanley’s body heat that felt so eerily real. 

“Is she not happy when she sees you?” Richie furrowed.

“She is, she just feels like she’s going crazy. I know that because I can read her energy, it’s obvious.” Stan shrugged as he bit his lip, before Richie quickly brought up his left thumb to stop Stan from doing so— an instinct that Richie used to have when Stan was still alive due to Stan often biting his lip in moments of frustration, hard enough until it bled. Stan smiled a little bit after Richie did so, but chose to ignore it. 

“I’ve been seeing you in my dreams. Not the real you, like, the you that you are right now or when you truly visit me in my dreams, but flashbacks of when we were young.” Richie said softly as he looked at Stan, parting their hands and using that arm to wrap around Stan’s waist to pull him closer. 

Stan looked up at Richie before saying, “By dreams, you mean your nightmares?” 

Richie shuddered. “What do you mean?” 

“Shouldn’t you fear having those dreams? Don’t you want to move on?”

“If moving on means I’m not going to be able to talk to you, like this, anymore, or even just seeing you in my dreams, then I don’t want it.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

They sat there in silence for a while, basking in each other’s presence, holding one another, as dark thoughts creep into Richie’s mind of the thought that he didn’t want this to end, that he wanted to be with Stanley forever, hold him forever, kiss him forever, hold his hand forever— all of it flooded his thoughts like a tsunami crashing against the biggest city in the world. 

“I love you, Stanley.” Richie professed, his voice sounding broken as tears streamed down his face, realizing there was no non-extreme, non-painful way to be with Stanley forever, and it wasn’t even a guarantee.

“I love you too, Rich-“

“No, Stan, I really love you. I don’t want you to go after this. I want to be with you forever. Please, Stan, I want you. Only you.” Richie said this as Stan moved his body away from Richie’s in order to properly take in what Richie has just confessed to him.

Stan stood up, backing up a bit as his breath got shaky. “Richie, please don’t tell me you’re thinking of hurting yourself just to be with me. Please. Please, don’t do it. I’ll never forgive myself.” Richie stood up as Stan said this, a frantic look painted his face as Stan started to melt into the tense air. 

“That doesn’t matter. My life is redundant, anyway. Stanley, you don’t understand.” Richie pleaded.

“But I do! I do understand, Richie. Patty already tried to do this to me. I can't even guarantee you that we will end up on the same plane of existence, Rich. Please, you can’t do this. I would rather have occasional visits with you rather than taking the 50/50 chance of never seeing you again or being with you forever. The stakes are too high, and, and— think about your parents, your fans!” Stan sounded like he was on the verge of tears, his tone being familiar to the one time they argued over their relationship status when they were in college— but this one was much darker.

“I love you so much, Stan. I always have. Do you really think I would memorize which streets you hate going on because they irk you, do you think I would memorize your very specific coffee orders for each coffee store you go to so I know what to get everytime you ask me to buy you one, do you think that me going around to literally every bakery in town just to find you a red velvet cake pop with vanilla icing and small white sprinkles that is perfectly in the shape of a globe for nearly five hours straight, just because I had a small thing for you in college? Stan, I forgot everyone in Derry after college except you. It was always you. My whole life has always been centered around you. And when I found out you died, Stan, you don’t know how much pain that caused me. You don’t. I need to be with you Stan, you don’t understand. Please.” Richie had fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he choked out his reasoning for his thoughts as Stan stood there in silence, not knowing how to respond, as Richie pleaded with his eyes for Stan to reciprocate.

Instead, Stan.. burst into tears.

He stood there, loudly sobbing like there was no tommorow, similar to how his 13 year old self would cry at the sight of IT’s forms. Richie immediately softened as he saw Stan bring his hands up to cover his face, slowly walking toward Stan in an attempt to comfort him but not to scare him too much.

Richie lightly held Stan’s hands, pulling them down from his face as he soothes Stan by saying, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. Stan, baby. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Please don’t do it, Richie, please, please promise me you won’t.” Stan choked out inbetween sobs as Richie held him close, with Richie’s right hand on Stan’s forearm and his left massaging the back of Stan’s head.

“I won’t, I won’t, okay, I just want to..” Richie went quiet, quickly wrapping both of his hand around Stan’s cheeks right before he kissed him, the rain pelting down on them harder than ever as Stan’s sobs went quiet, and carefully placing one of his hands on Richie’s arm.

They stayed there, just like that, for quite a while- kissing in the rain as Stan and Richie’s tears blended into one another, which, hypothetically, should’ve seemed impossible— but apparently, the laws universe can do it what it wants and when it pleases.

They haven’t kissed in nearly two decades, and Richie kissing Stan felt like a eating the first bite of a good meal that he hasn’t had in days. 

“I love you so much.” Richie said, only parting their lips for a second, but then opening his eyes to quickly realize that Stan wasn’t there anymore- and that his ghostly figure had dissipated into the air. 

Richie stepped back, nearly tripping as he looked at the dimly lit road below him, which used to be occupied by Stan’s presence- is empty. It was now when Richie realized that Stanley truly was dead and gone, forever, and he couldn’t take the idea of not being with Stan, and only ever being able to see him just for a few minutes every few days. It was torture for Richie, a tease- a tease of a life that he could’ve had with Stan, a happy life that was snatched away by Stan’s own fear of IT.

Richie bit his lip as his body slowly melted back into sitting against the front bumper of his red Mustang, looking up at the sky as the rain pelted down upon him, the thunder rolling in the distance. Richie wondered if Stan was still here in spirit, and he got his answer quick with the feeling of a harsh squeeze at his hand even though no one was there. But, rather than reassuring, it felt sad and almost scary- because it was tonight when Richie came to the conclusion that he cannot live so torturously like this anymore.

But he wouldn’t do it, just for Stan— because he knew if he were to die and if he saw Stanley in the afterlife he knew Stan would be disappointed in him. Stan would want Richie to be happy, live a long life, famous and in the L.A. lights, but Richie isn’t sure if he can do that without Stan always being there by his side— in a physical, real form, at least.

He once thought, when he was younger, that he born to live for Stan, born to be famous, born to be successful but he realized he had guessed wrong ever since Stanley’s death. Maybe he was born to die, right here, in L.A., as he would rather pass away than forget how the ‘Losers’ defeated IT for the second time, which he was already steadily forgetting, than live in the bliss of ignorance to why Stan had killed himself in the first place. 

“Please come back.” Richie sobbed as he took his glasses off and tossed them aside as he covered his face with his rain-soaked hands, his loud, ugly cries, filling the air as Stan’s cold and eerie prescence in the atmosphere started to disappear. Stan never explained his horrible times of parting everytime him and Richie talked— but this time was by far the absolute worst.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me if it sucked.
> 
> twitter : anarchobeck


End file.
